


Content with Silence

by greeneyes_softsighs



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 2x3, Adult Content, Angst, Clothed Sex, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, Teenage Fumbling, before the final battle, mentions 1+2, slight exhibitionism, softcore PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 18:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyes_softsighs/pseuds/greeneyes_softsighs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duo Maxwell works through his first, and maybe his last, thoughts on his tentative connection with Trowa Barton.  2x3</p>
<p>Starts off with Duo rambling, ends in a pile of post-coital teenage angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Content with Silence

**Author's Note:**

> “Does not everything depend on our interpretation of the silence around us?”  
> ― Lawrence Durrell, Justine

**I** t's not a well known fact that I've recently learned to appreciate silence. Not saying I like it, necessarily, but I learned uses for it other than the usual things - like stealth. It was after Operation Meteor launched that I quickly realized the silence of space could be a comfort rarely found dirtside. See, the Earth was never silent. At first it was a reprieve from the life I'd known on L2. But for a guy like me: between the battles, the screaming and the bullshit, there never came that moment of complete stillness. Never the absolute void I unwittingly became accustomed to on the colonies. Always had to be some cricket chirping or bird hooting down there.

On L2, a dirt-poor colony that lacked pretty much any luxury found on some other more 'earth-like' satellites, there were no artificial soundtracks playing at night to simulate Earth's constant menagerie of noisy creatures. In the day, sure, the noise pollution was catastrophic. But when the cycle wound down and darkness fell, even the prostitutes, corner drug hustlers and other street riff raff clammed up. Back then, when I was a kid, silence was the predator. Sometimes, when I was sleeping in the gutters, I'd wish for something to break the seal of the night. A gunshot. A crack-head screeching incoherently. Hell, I'd even go for just a loud cough. Anything to let me know I wasn't alone. I would never admit it out loud, but I had come to fear the silence lurking in the night on L2.

When I began fighting for the colonies, I quickly learned that the very same silence came after death. Death, the always screaming, noisy, hellish cacophony of it, had its end in silence. And lemme tell you, I'm quite fuckin' comfortable with Death, but not with Silence. I'm familiar with the rattles of the last breath, the wheezes of pain, the cries of agony -- that shit I can handle. It's the silence of the moment after that tortures me. The questions that hang in the air. Was there regret? Fear? What happened now and where the hell did they go? Were they lost forever?

Sister Helen and Father Maxwell preached about Heaven and Hell. Eventually everyone was siphoned into one of the two. And despite the fact that Sister Helen soothed me often and told me not to fear God's judgement, that my actions spoke for themselves, I came to realize later that I had no place in either realm. I don't belong with the sinners, though I count myself among them, and I sure as hell didn't belong with the saints. So I thought, when I decided to die, I'll probably bypass the two most popular afterlife destinations and end up in the great in-between of Purgatory. I'll be paying off life-debts and regrets forever, longing alternately for the light of redemption or the cold, black pit of hell. I deserve that endless restlessness. I deserve the anxiety of an afterlife spent always in transition. It's how I've existed up to now, anyway, and my life seems about as damn close to a punishment as any other.

"Duo?" The soft question from the boy sitting across from me pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up from our game of chess, set up on the floor of the bay where we serviced the Gundams on Peacemillion, and caught the tense string of worry, barely visible in the line of Trowa's mouth, before he relaxed it and spoke again. "Penny for your thoughts?"

I shifted under Trowa's gaze and grinned to hide my unease, offering him a half-hearted shrug and flick of my hair in response. Silence. I wasn't good at it, but I didn't want tell him how dark my thoughts had gone. I didn't want him to know how I expected -- maybe even wanted -- our last battle to end. Though, from the weight of his gaze I kinda got the feeling he understood, anyway. I was beginning to see that Trowa never really needed much verbal stimulation to get the picture. He was too damn good at reading people. I wonder if he's a telepath or something. You know, like one of those people who could use 100% of their brain and lift things with their mind? Heero fit into that category, too. Fuckin' nutball.

Still, despite my rare moments of insight, I knew Trowa the least out of the other pilots. His penchant for long stretches of silence frustrated me in the beginning. It was too close to that void that loomed after Death. Too full of questions and uncertainty. If he caught your eye in that time between his carefully chosen words, well, fuck. I felt like he was expecting a lot out of me in that time. Just like now. What the hell was he expecting me to do? Bare my soul?

Trowa offered me a brief nod. His lips twitched slightly, sketching a wry, sad kind of smile before relaxing again. Okay, did he just answer my unspoken question or did he really understand? I couldn't help but wonder as I let my eyes roam over his body. I tried to read his posture, his expression, but it was nearly impossible. Those green eyes were intent on something, but what? Christ, I wish he'd just come out and say it! Sometimes. I knew that on some level he must understand. We were both Gundam pilots, after all. Our lives were basically dependent on that identity. Although, he and Heero had the added bonus of being ultra fucked up perfect soldier-robots who had nearly killed themselves in service of that identity.

I looked at the chess board and made my move, abruptly snatching and aggressively placing a piece, thinking of Wufei's 'words of wisdom' from earlier that day. I wanted to ask if Trowa still believed he was as expendable, as temporal and meaningless, as a soldier. If anything had happened during this war to change his mind or his identity. Surprisingly, I wasn't sure if I could answer that question even about myself. Clearly Heero and Trowa were not the only ultra fucked up guys on this ship.

Trowa made his counter move before he gracefully unfolded himself from his seat on the floor and returned to servicing Heavyarms. I watched him work on the Gundam, and let the quiet moment between us stretch on. His hands were kind of delicate, I observed, but I knew that just like me the palms were rough, his knuckles cracked and dry from the pressurized air on the ship. He had his back turned to me for a while -- I figured that was worth reading into -- so I just watched him work. Watched the way he seemed to keep a beat with noiseless taps of his foot as he read through the diagnostics fed from Heavyarm's computer to his tablet. Watched as he sometimes ran his fingers through his hair and back over his neck to adjust the way his turtleneck rested against his throat. Watched as he shifted his weight from leg to leg, hips swinging this way and that. Not in a flamboyant way, mind, just... normal. Normal movements for someone who led a life so far from normal that when he had time like this -- time to tap his foot and nervously adjust his shirt collar -- it ended up being exceptional.

I can't help reading into his silence. It's unsettling how much that happens. But can you really blame me, especially after the way we first met, and all those other times we had altercations in the field? I thought that maybe the guy had it out for me since the start. It definitely didn't help when he destroyed 'Scythe on live TV. Now, though, I understood his reasons for silence.  Kind of. I knew it was still related to that moment after Death. It came after the last, harsh rounds were fired. It came after the battle and ammo was spent. But for Trowa, silence wasn't a void he had to conquer. It was an amplifier. Where I saw the absence of something, he saw the build of it. When there was silence, even the quietest noise was like a shotgun blast. Every sigh was important. Every whimper.

I searched to fill silence, out of habit probably, as I chatted endlessly with Heero and teased Wufei. I welcomed Quatre's boring, if beautiful music and even his naively impassioned speeches about pacifism. I pushed silence away from me and destroyed it with bitter laughter and gunfire. On the flip-side, Trowa welcomed it. He used it to his advantage. When he spoke, everyone listened. When he laughed -- which fuck me if I've heard him laugh more than one time ever -- everyone noticed. It was hard for me to interrupt him as I did Quatre, Heero or Wufei. I looked for different ways to fill the silence with Trowa while still allowing it room between us. I didn't want to take it away from him. It was like his super power. It made him appealing and mysterious. Sure, it was frustrating trying to adapt, but I felt it was worth the trouble and slight discomfort.

I looked back down at the chess board and made my final move, check mating Trowa before I stood and abandoned our game to walk over to Heavyarms. He continued his work even as I approached him from behind, and to his credit he only responded with a sigh when I placed my hands on his slim waist.

"Duo..." he breathed into the mounting silence and bowed his head, bracing his hands on Heavyarms, opened in front of him like a patient on the operating table. I watched his neck stretch, revealing pale skin from under the fabric of his dark sweater, and leaned forward to press my lips against the warm flesh just under his hairline. His scent mingled with the fresh, clean smell of his shampoo and the sharp tang of a cologne I recognized as one Quatre had gifted to him. I inhaled, enjoying the way Trowa's long body shuddered against mine, and pulled back when he turned his head to look at me from over his shoulder.

That damned emerald gaze of his. No words, just that look, and there was a connection forged between us both as fragile, and as strong, as a spider's thread. We hadn't had the chance to connect much during this war, yet, rare as it was, the electricity was undeniable. I swallowed and grinned at him, pressing our bodies flush back to front as I reached around him from behind and gripped his chin. He twisted his head to the side and downward, fought my grip on his face for a moment, then relaxed against me when I passed my thumb over his mouth and pressed it between his lips. He sucked it with a wet noise that made my cock twitch. I grazed the digit along his teeth and over his slick, warm tongue.

"Uhn... Tro'... fuck..." I can't help but whisper the curse when his hips thrust backward and his ass grinds so slowly into my crotch. I fight back by sliding my hand from his waist to his stomach under his shirt. The skin there is silky, marred by a few scars, and warm. His abdominals tremble under my touch and I venture lower, forming my palm against the bulge straining in his pants.  Trowa's mouth falls open as he moans loudly, and the sound is exquisite torture, cutting through the quiet of the hangar bay. Cutting through _me_. We stop suddenly, pressed against each other, frozen and listening. Our instincts tell us to check for someone, anyone who might have heard. Make sure our cover wasn't blown.

"Sorry..." he whispers apologetically. My hand is still gripping his chin gently. As he speaks, my thumb slides over the flesh of his jaw and leaves a wet trail of saliva. I couldn't help but think that maybe he had been talking to Heavyarms. The only other being implicit to our actions.

"It's okay," I reply, soothing more than anything.  "It's okay. Do you want to stop?"

For a moment, I was afraid he would say yes, and leave me alone in the hangar bay with a raging boner. He'd done it before not too long ago. My grip on his chin slackens up and he turns around in my arms to face me. My fingers find purchase in his hair and cradle the base of his skull, pulling him into a kiss that he comes to willingly. His lips are pliant against mine. Soft, inviting and tasty. So tasty. I hum happily and he smiles, smirking as we kiss. Then he opens his mouth and sucks on my tongue, and the world melts away into blackness.

I've kissed a few people in my life. I actually kissed Heero a couple of times, but the guy wasn't all that into it honestly. He had other things, other people, on his mind. He wasn't able to let go of the moment. Heero carried a huge burden that he wasn't willing to share with anyone. Trowa, on the other hand, could make that world disappear if he wanted. There was still tension there, sure. The underlying alertness that we all as pilots of Gundams and soldiers had trained into us remained, but Trowa was still able to give himself wholly without bringing the destructive paranoia that often informed people like Heero's actions.

The sound of his labored breathing is the only thing I can hear as we break the kiss. There's no silence between us now, and there won't be for a little while, at least. I look at his face. He's flushed, mouth parted slightly, with an expression reflected in his green eyes that I've always found hard to read. Was it lust? No... At least, not the type I was accustomed to seeing. There was something else there, and I wondered for a moment if Trowa saw the same thing in my face. Or did he only see my lust for him? Because I fucking well lusted for him, and his body, and I didn't try very hard to hide it from the Heavyarms pilot.

Trowa tries to wet his lips with a dry tongue and leans forward to kiss my cheek, and then my jaw. His lips travel up and finally latch onto my earlobe, sucking gently as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls my hips. Our hard cocks grind together, friction and heat and desperation all deliciously trapped between the tight press of our bodies. All of my senses are bombarded by Trowa. The feeling of his hard body against mine, the sound of his lips and mouth wetly kissing and licking the sensitive skin of my ear, the scent of him made stronger by the heat of our intimacy. I groan softly.

Fuck. Fuck, Trowa, I hardly know you! I only just realized how to appreciate your special brand of Trowa-ness. Will I regret all this once the final battle ends? After the roaring of our Gundams' engines dies, after the screams, the crunching of bones, the sickening sobs of the enemy as they beg for their lives...? Will I regret having made peace with the silence, finally, after all this time? I can't imagine being with you like this in any other time than this. We've never fucked in a bed. It seems dirty to think of doing this in any other setting, and after the war, without a Gundam to lean against or a hangar to work in, where could we find this kind of connection again?  I swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

My hands fall down, tracing over the planes of Trowa's shoulders and back, and I grip his ass tightly through his jeans. The sound he makes in my ear drives all thought from my mind. I want him, in this moment, at least. Just let me have this one moment, God, you fucking bastard. I deserve a little taste of heaven for once in my whole damned existence. Don't I?

Trowa's breath his ragged, and our motions are erratic, thrusting and grinding against each other desperately until Trowa's body suddenly tenses against mine. His breath hitches and shudders, tickling my ear. I rut against his leg roughly until I cum, too, gripping his ass tightly to keep my hips in contact with his as I ride out the waves of pleasure and the world melts away for a few blissful seconds.

Silence. Silence, it follows battles. It follows death. It follows fucking. I hold onto Trowa tightly, leaning against him as he leans against Heavyarms. He holds onto me, too, and for a moment the silence feels like a blanket we can wrap around ourselves for protection.

Eventually, I pull away from his arms and take a tentative step backward on wobbly knees, only realizing when I look down at the wet spot on the front of Trowa's pants that we'd forgotten to take them off. When I look up, so does he, clearly coming to the same conclusion. The stupidity of it is shockingly hilarious and I can't help it when I break out into spontaneous, nearly hysterical laughter. Then Trowa laughs, too, and it makes me laugh all the harder. I trip forward against him, laughing into his chest, laughs that sound curiously like sobs.

I hear him saying something.  Something nice, probably.  I can't make out the words above my silly blubbering.  His voice is gentle and strong, though, and he strokes my hair until my laughter -- or is it sobs? -- dies down and all I can feel is emptiness. Catharsis. Boneless and empty, we slowly slide to the floor and sit there, together, until the silence returns and blankets us once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, now that THIS is over I can move on to something AU, super smutty, and incredibly self-indulgent. CoS is my first fic ever penned and I'm not completely happy with it. I don't even know if it makes any sense, really.
> 
> In any case, if you enjoyed it I hope you can manage a kudos. If not, feel free to rip apart my terrible characterization and poor taste in kinks. ;) I just wanted to take a stab at a pairing I've only recently warmed up to -- thanks to ClaraxBarton, mostly, among other wonderful authors of 2x3 smut on this site. I have always preferred 1x3 and 1+3, though, so I'll probably try and butcher up some Heavywing later on just for old time's sake.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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